The Riddle Heir
by Dragoneye0103
Summary: Scarred by her childhood, Rowan seeks a new life away from her father - the Dark Lord
1. Phoenix Tears

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. JKRowling does. This disclaimer counts for every chapter. Please review!**

Her cries carrying loudly through the early-morning misty silence, a girl with pale white skin framed by brown – almost black – hair knelt on the wet, dewy grass, crying wretchedly, as if her world had just ended. Impenetrable cold white mist enclosed the property so completely that it did indeed look like the world just slammed to a stop.

Behind the girl, lay a Tudor house that must have once been beautiful, for now it was in smouldering ruins. Red glowing embers and fine ash made was all that was left of the relic, with the occasional stump of wall left, blackened and charred. Only a single wall still stood proudly, with two windows grinning like empty eye sockets remaining on the top floor. The earth around the house was black, marking an explosion, spiking chaotically out from the centre of the ruin.

But the girl only had eyes for the empty ones lying a few meters away from her, hollow and vacant. They belonged to the body of a young girl, which if it had not been lying sprawled at such a horrific angle, could have easily been a lifeless shop dummy.

Through her warm, salty tears, she reached a shaking hand forward... and slowly touched the girl. She was cold.

With a final cry of anguish, she curled into a foetal position, ignoring the damp and cold. In her line of sight now were two other figures, that of a man and a woman, not moving.

Their blank eyes betrayed them. They were dead too.

Her grief and anguish was quickly replaced by anger.

In the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a tall black silhouette gliding towards her, and felt the raw, hungry anger inside her grow. He had done this; he had murdered this innocent family, purely out of spite. Behind him were foggy grey figures. She glared. Death Eaters.

And he was there, leering over her shoulder, snake-like slits for a nose, evil red eyes, grinning at her sorrow. He was straight out of her darkest nightmares.

Slowly, as though she was in a trance, she watched a ghostly skeletal hand, reached out of his black cloak, clawing towards her... resting ominously on her shoulder.

Instinctively she flinched, and was rewarded by a cruel, cold smile.

A furious red rage let lose inside her, thrashing against the pain in her ribcage, breathing fire in her heart, clawing, groping for him who had taken everything from her.

She would kill him. She would break him, break him into a thousand pieces of glass, and scatter him across the four corners of the earth. She would make him feel her unendurable grief; she would make him feel the pain of what he had done...

And that would not happen while she wallowed here on the grass.

She staggered to her feet, barely contained from screaming, and drew her wand.

He laughed loudly, his wand hanging limply from his side, like she was no threat to him.

"Wasn't it enough to destroy my past?" she spat like a cat, "Do you now have to murder everything I care about?"

He laughed again. She seethed, and then froze.

She looked at the dead young girl. She could take revenge – and she would take revenge – later. But first she had to make sure this family were always remembered.

To the amused looks of the man, she knelt again on the grass, and drew a small silver dagger from her robes. In a swift motion, she slashed a cut into her left hand, from the base of her thumb across her palm to the bottom of her little finger. Biting her lip, she squeezed her left hand and let three drops of scarlet blood drip onto the moist earth. Stretching out her right hand, she hummed "ferrum lignum," and slowly dragged it upwards, like she was pulling something. Around her the earth rumbled, and a tiny silver shoot appeared out of the ground.

She raised both her hands, drawing a pattern only she could see. The silver seedling grew in front of her, grew to mirror her movements. First she circled and twisted her hands clockwise around each other, entwining and crisscrossing. She spiralled them out, continuously reaching and spreading, swaying with the movement, eyes closed.

Breathless, she raised her head. The Death Eaters had fallen silent.

Imbedded in the ground in front of her, grew a rowan tree, made of curving, twisting iron, gleaming like silver. Above her, its trunk fanned out into numerous, sinewy branches, and each had sprouted elegant iron leaves, smaller than her hand, creating an eerily beautiful iron canopy. Twinkling among these leaves were small red berries – like drops of blood.

It contrasted perfectly with the garden, so all eyes were drawn to it. It sang of loss and melancholy, grief and anguish.

But it was not quite finished.

Her heart breaking as she did so, for this was a final, definite, sign that they were dead, she carefully traced three names into the iron of the tree. As she traced the letters, they appeared engraved in the tree.

She stood back from the tree and read what she had carved.

'Emily Walle - 1953 – 1990

John Walle - 1949 – 1990'

And finally,

'Helen Walle - 1982 – 1990'

The whole earth was silent.

CRACK, CRACK, CRACK, CRACK, CRACK, CRACK.

The Death Eaters whipped around to face the noise, wands poised, in a tense arrow formation with Lord Voldemort at the head, scowling. Directly mirroring them across the garden were several toughened Aurors, grimacing, at their head a stout man in a bowler hat and smart suit, standing nervously next to a tall, bright blue eyed wizard with a length of sliver beard, dressed in typical wizarding robes, eyes locked on Voldemort.

The girl looked from the black Death Eaters to the Ministry formation, and slowly stumbled to her feet. Every eye followed her movements.

"Rowan... " hissed Voldemort in Parseltongue. Death Eaters and Aurors alike blinked, confused.

"Rowan... come heeeere..."

But the girl simply shook her head, and raised her eyes to meet the sky-blue ones of the old wizard at the head of the Aurors.

When Dumbledore looked into her eyes, he didn't see a wiry girl of ten years, he saw a talented individual whose eyes betrayed her. She was scared. She had seen too much.

A curios vibrating sound, so low it seemed to be coming from the earth itself filled the air. A beat pulsed, like the hum of a heart. The majestic sound of an entire orchestra swept suddenly through the cold air, growing louder and louder, until it seemed to be coming from inside your mind. The beat grew quicker. The music reached a crescendo until it was an almost unbearable pitch, screaming, crying.

The girl did not blink.

Slowly, she twisted her arms above her head into an arch, fingers clawing outwards.

From seemingly nowhere, numerous shards of silver glass, some the size of a head, others the length of a fingernail, poured in, flew in, from every direction, to form a swirling, humming mass behind her.

The glass pulsed electric blue, pearly white and pure silver as the swarm behind her sifted through itself, bending, doubling back, all around her.

The cloud of glass suddenly flew to one spot, liquidising into flowing molten silver, speckled with blue and white, with flecks of green. Now the sphere was like the sea, swimming one direction before changing its mind and turning back the other way, constantly throbbing.

And then even as the Death Eaters and Aurors watched, the sphere began to shed layers of glass, each layer evaporating into tiny pieces of crystal. The glittering specks flew in torrents to a place directly above the girl.

Finally she moved, sweeping her arms downward and up, like wings of a bird.

Above her, the sparkles of glass had moved together again, to form a glowing, beautiful, majestic silver phoenix, with eyes of pure sea green, feathers flecked with ice-blue and snow white. It hovered in midair; regal wings controlling the wind, pushing it down and up, in perfect time to the girl's movements.

All the while, the sound of the orchestra had been blowing across the garden, and now it built up and up, the beat grew louder, the pitch dropped up and down; the background thrum of the bass instruments became thunderous, and surged up to the peculiar music.

With a final mourning note, the music stopped. The girl folded her arms back into herself and the magnificent phoenix; it seemed, flew into the girl and disappeared.

Three slow claps broke the stunned silence.

Voldemort turned leisurely to the girl and said "Very impressive... you've been practicing. Now, come here, my Rowan..." in the same snake-like hiss.

The girl stood a little straighter and replied "Never."

Proudly, the little girl walked towards Dumbledore.

"Please help me," she whispered, in English this time.

Smiling kindly, Dumbledore took her small pale hand in his wrinkled one and she stood beside him.

"Have you ever Apperated before?" he asked. She shook her head.

"Then on the count of one, two, and three!" said Dumbledore, spinning on the spot, holding firmly onto the arm of the girl.

At the last moment the girl waved goodbye to Voldemort, wand ready to cast a spell, but they both knew he was too late.

"Bye, father," she whispered, as Voldemort's howls of rage vanished in the distant.

Only Dumbledore heard her. He gave a little start of surprise, chuckled "Well, well!" and peered curiously down at the little girl he had just rescued. She smiled nervously up at him and he winked.

"Up there," he said, pointing to a humungous castle sprawled at the top of a hill, partly surrounded by a dense forest. Hand in hand, they set off towards the castle, grinning shyly at each other.


	2. Familair Nightmares

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Please read & review! It takes quite a while for me to write another chapter but I'll be as quick as I can.**

 **Thanks to Wolfie and Needles, for putting up with my 'scary Harry Potter Fangirl' ranting. Silverwing says hi.**

 **Thanks to Marauder0103, for ideas.**

The elderly wizard led the young girl up to a set of imposing stone gates, while she took in the magnificent turreted castle with awed curiosity. Against the inky black sky, the stone castle was a grey smudge; it was impossible to tell where the castle ended and the night sky began.

Scattered across the castle were lit windows, like tiny fireflies. Warm, yellow light spilled out into the winter night, and they quickened their pace.

The girl glanced at the wizard's wand.

"I have a wand," she said quietly, "but it didn't choose me. It doesn't work very well for me."

"Then we'll get you a new one," replied the wizard. The girl's eyes brightened with excitement, and they descended into comfortable silence again.

Shrill owl hoots punctuated the night sky, and from the tightly packed skeleton trees of the forest came whispers and howls, murmurs and growls, but the castle's impenetrable exterior was silent.

Upon reaching a grand set of tall, bronze doors, the wizard knocked loudly and waited. A few moments later there was a scuffling noise the other side of the door, a key clinked in the lock, and the doors groaned open.

"Who is it?" rasped an irritated voice, as a scowling, hunched man peered around the edge of the door.

"Good evening Argus," greeted wizard politely.

"Oh, it only you... come on in Headmaster... come on in...," said Argus, waving the wizard impatiently inside. He caught sight of the girl, hiding in the shadows behind the wizard, and jumped.

"Well... lookee here... who's this then?" she stared at her, leeringly.

"Argus, she's a guest tonight," said the wizard firmly," would you please find her a room in our Hospital wing," the wizard caught sight of Argus's curious expression, "she just needs somewhere to spend the night."

Argus grunted, and opened the heavy door just enough so that she could squeeze in, glaring at her suspiciously. The girl avoided looking at him, but strode quickly up to her wizard and beamed at him, and she thought she caught him smiling faintly too.

She followed the Headmaster down a well lit flagstone corridor, branching off into smaller corridors every fifty meters, like a messy cobweb. Walking and gossiping down the corridor were hordes of students carrying books and wands, chattering aimlessly, all wearing warm black robes and striped ties. The bustle of noise was almost visible above the chaotic tide of boys and girls sweeping in every direction. As they drew near the Headmaster they fell respectfully quiet, but smiled cheerfully at him.

"Watch out Will... It's Filch!" warned a stocky boy with a red and yellow tie.

"Hide me," ducked his friend, "I set off some Dungbombs last night outside his office!"

But it was too late; Argus Filch spotted Will, and dragged him down a smaller corridor with a wheezing cackle.

Turning her head, the girl caught strands of a dozen separate conversations, as the students blurred past her.

"... Mrs McGonagall gave us an _entire_ foot on this essay...but it does count for our grades..."

"...the Ravenclaw Vs Slytherin game on Monday..."

"... and Amelia said she would _never_ come with me to Hogsmeade..."

"... so when is this Transfiguration homework in again..."

"... hey Fred! Quidditch practice tomorrow... it's supposed to rain though..."

The girl had never seen so many people her own age in one place at one time. Constantly alive with commotion, the swarm of noise and colours made her dizzy. She turned left and right, trying to take all the sights, smells and sounds in at one time.

 _Quidditch_? Ravenclaw? Slytherin? Dungbombs?

She stopped suddenly, startled. Out loud she whispered, _"It's a school._ A school for _magic_..."

She grinned around her, like she was daring someone to shout out that it was a joke.

"Would you like to walk somewhere a bit less crowded?" said a concerned voice in her ear. The girl startled and flinched away from the voice. Anxious eyes peered at her from over half-moon glasses. She nodded, and they walked into a gloomy deserted corridor, the splash of noise and colour fading rapidly from the main corridor. Their footsteps echoed loudly on the stone floor.

"Were you all right back there?" asked the Headmaster.

"Yes... I've just never been anywhere like this before," she replied. "It is... it is a school, isn't it?" she asked nervously. The wizard's eyes twinkled.

"Yes, this is Hogwarts, a school for magic. It is not compulsory, but many parents chose to send their children here."

"Is it a boarding school?"

"Indeed."

"Can I come?"

The old wizard looked at the girl curiously.

"Of course you can come. This school admits every pupil whose name has been written down."

"What are Ravenclaw and Slytherin?" she blurted out, after a moment's pause, like she couldn't contain herself.

"Ravenclaw, Slytherin, Gryffindor and Hufflepuff are our four houses. Everyone is sorted into a house at the beginning of the year by the Sorting hat."

"Ah... here we are! Chocolate wand," said the wizard, stopping outside a gargoyle guarding a twisting staircase. They stepped onto the staircase, which began to twirl upwards, so that the corridor sand out of sight. It gave a growling rumble and swept them up so fast that the girl sat down briefly so she wouldn't fall over. They spiralled out onto a landing bearing a door with the sign _The Headmaster's Office_.

As she stepped cautiously into what was to become her favourite room of the entire castle, the girl was welcomed with a thousand clicks and clinks as confusing contraptions lined the shelves of the office. Everywhere she looked, something was happening, from a cabinet full of glittering, dusty bottles, a faded brown globe standing proudly on an oak desk, multitudes of worn books lining shelves built into the wall, a rotating telescope next to a star chart that was filling itself in, to a flaming red phoenix squinting at her curiously from its stand. The office itself consisted of three overlapping circles, slightly higher than each other, with steps leading up to each level and stone pillars placed at each intersection.

A sharp voice just above her head said "Well go in! You're letting all the heat out!" She jumped and craned upwards to see who had spoken. Covering the curving wall above her, were portraits of old witches and wizards, some as tall as life, some as small and rectangular as a book, jumbled together like different pieces from many jigsaw puzzles.

"Well don't just stand their catching flies! Shut the door!"

She shut the door.

"Forgive me, forgive me, but I never asked your name?" inquired the old wizard, seated comfortably behind the desk. She sank into a cushioned armchair opposite him.

"I'm Rowan... Rowan Bellatrix Riddle," she said, smiling ruefully.

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brain Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts," he said, and they shook hand formally over the desk.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir?" Rowan blurted out, "I'm not a Death Eater. I-I just wanted you to know."

"Good, good. Now," Dumbledore pushed his fingertips together, "about what you are planning to do. Do you know anyone that would take you in?"

"Well, Hann's Orphanage. I went there before I was adopted... adopted by the Walle's," she said, her voice cracking. "Tonight, at least," he said softly, with a small, sad smile," you should stay in our Hospital ward. I will contact the Orphanage and will explain you need to return back there. At the same time, I will inform them you will be starting a boarding school this September."

"Thanks," she whispered.

"A letter will arrive in the post containing a list of all your school equipment and books needed." Rowan's wet eyes brightened, she sat up straighter, wiped her eyes again and sniffed.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir?"

"Hmm?"

"I – I don't have any money, and the Orphanage is quite poor so –"

"Please don't worry. Hogwarts has a trust fund that can help, however some of your books and robes might have to be brought second-hand."

"That's fine – but, sir – where do I buy spell books and robes?"

"Ah – in Diagon Alley, in London. The entrance is concealed behind the wizard pub The Leaky Cauldron. Would you – Would you like any assistance buying your things?" Dumbledore said intently.

"You mean – someone would come with me?"

"I would, if you would like that?"

"You?" said Rowan," would come with me?"

"Only if you would like me to."

"That would be brilliant," Rowan smiled," if you have the time, I mean."

"Well, that's that. It's quite late now, I shall see you tomorrow. Argus Filch will, I think, lead you to the Hospital Wing."

Rowan took this as a dismissal, and walked to the door, pausing to smile back at the Professor. The door swung shut with a thud.

Back in his office, Albus Dumbledore sighed, brow furrowed, before walking over to a stone basin filled with smoking glittering wisps of a substance that wasn't quite liquid or gas. Pointing his wand to his temple, he dragged out a long silver thread, and dropped it into the Pensive. Swirling the contents around with his wand, an image of a girl crying next to an iron tree surfaced for a moment, before vanishing back into the mist.

Rowan followed a grumbling Filch to the Hospital Wing. It was very late, and the lights were turned off. Sliver moonlight illuminated rows of forlorn hospital beds with neat, clean covers; all empty expect for one at the end.

As Filch muttered something about coming round at seven, Rowan's eye was drawn to the occupied bed. She heard an echoing click as the door was shut, and winced.

Tiptoeing, she peered at a girl lying on the bed, arm in a sling, jerking and flinching in her sleep. On her bedside table was a grey bottle labelled Skele-gro.

Rowan padded over to a bed the other side of the room, and sank beneath the covers.

It hit her like a stone wall; she was never going to see Emily again. Helen Walle would never yell at her for getting mud on her clothes, or for not finishing her chores again, John Walle would never come home and spin Emily round and round in the air again. And Emily would never peep out from the end of her bed and shout "Happy Birthday!" ever again. They would never fall, laughing, off the swing, they would never steal biscuits from the kitchen, and they would never fantasize about the future together. Rowan started shaking uncontrollably, tears streaming down her face. After about then minutes she forgot what she was crying about, the world turned upside down and all she could see through a curtain to salty tears was the end of her bed. She sat up, telling herself to get a grip, before remembering that Emily was gone. Her world dissolved into watering blacks and blues as her tears started falling again.

An hour later, or maybe several hours, she finally drifted off, straight into her usual nightmare.

A heavy lidded woman with curled black hair stood at the doorway, her hand on her hip, leering down at a little girl with disgust.

"Hurry up, Rowan!" she snapped, "the Dark Lord is waiting for you. Pack your clothes."

Obediently, the little girl rushed over to a tall oak wardrobe, grabbed a handful of grey cloth and started piling her clothes into a small rucksack. She stopped suddenly, and turned to the woman.

"Mama," she said, and the woman flinched angrily," it doesn't all fit."

"Well _make_ it fit, you stupid girl!"

"I don't know how to do magic yet."

Huffing, the woman stomped into the tiny bedroom, tore the rucksack from her daughter and prodded it with her wand. Flinging back at her daughter, she said," There, you wretch. An extension charm, it will fit now. Quickly! The Dark Lord does not like to be kept waiting!"

The girl smiled eagerly at the woman, who turned away in revulsion. Grin fading, the girl zipped up her rucksack and swung it onto her shoulder.

"At last! But remember this Rowan," she said sternly, looking into her eyes," the dark Lord is your father, do you understand?" The girl nodded fearfully. "But he is your Lord. You will address him as 'my Lord', and you will never, _never do you hear me Rowan_ , address him as _father_." Rowan nodded hurriedly. "Good," said the woman, standing up and roughly grabbing Rowan's arm. She spun around in a tight circle, yanking the girl with her, before appearing instantly in a narrow, dimly-lit hallway, festooned with cobwebs, bearing a single door.

Taking a deep breath, the woman pushed it open and strode in.

There was no natural lighting inside the tall hall; only a weak silvery glow came from enchanted candles, imbedded in grinning skulls. Lurking in the shadows, cloaked figures sporting gilded grinning mask's watchful eyes followed the movement they made, as they walked to the centre of the hall, where a lone figure sat on a chair, bathed by light from a glowing chandelier high above his head, waiting.

"Here at last, Bellatrix?" he said, in a cold, high voice.

"My apologies, my Lord. We came as quick as we could," replied Bellatrix, pulling the girl out from where she had been cowering behind her.

"I brought the girl, my Lord," she added softly.

The girl met a pair of cruel, red glowing eyes, assessing her. He had snake-like slits for a nose, and was deathly pale deathly pale. He sat back on the chair like it was a golden throne, and wore plain black robes like they were the finest velvet. He narrowed his eyes.

"Rowan..." he hissed. The girl cringed, and the Death Eaters winced at the sound. After a few long moments of silence, the Dark Lord raised his head a little, searching eyes never leaving her face, and commanded "Death Eaters, leave," with a dismissive wave of his skeletal hand. At once, the shadowy figures walked swiftly to the door that lead the hallway, as though someone had flicked a switch.

As Bellatrix turned to leave with the other hooded Death eaters, the Dark Lord said "Wait, Bellatrix. Stay here."

"Yes, my Lord."

Once everyone had left, he spoke again, "Bellatrix, how old is she?"

"Four and three-quarters," said the little girl quickly.

"Is your name Bellatrix?" he asked sharply, rounding on her, and Rowan froze. She shook her head, staring at the ground.

"You will start learning Dark Magic from the Death Eaters, starting in the morning," he said.

"Dark Magic?" the girl asked, confused.

"Yes," said the Dark Lord, staring at her intently for a few, long moments, "you do not want to learn Dark Magic, do you?"

"I-I thought I would be going to a school, like Hogwarts, to learn, well… _legal_ magic..." she said, trailing off at the end as she saw the rage on his face.

"Hogwarts?" he said, dangerously quietly. Rowan glanced at Bellatrix, hoping for guidance, but she just stared blankly at the opposite wall.

"I-I read about it," she blustered," in a book... And – and I thought – I would be learning... um, _legal_ magic..." She stopped suddenly, and stared at the floor, knowing she had gone too far.

" _Legal_ magic," hissed the Dark Lord, wand drawn from nowhere. " _Legal magic?_ Are you disagreeing with me?" he asked, daring her to deny it. But the girl was silent, eyes wide.

" _I'll_ teach you a lesson, Rowan. You do not disagree with _me_."

He raised his wand, muttered something she couldn't hear over the roaring in her ears, and shot a green jet of light from the end of it.

And Rowan exploded inward, red hot glass and molten metal clenched around her heart. She slammed to the floor; someone was screaming, unendurable screaming. Everything turned blinding white, black and red. Struggling to breath, suffocating in pain, her nails drawing semi-circles of blood in her palm, it had to stop... she couldn't carry on, she would rather die...

As suddenly as it had began, the pain stopped, like someone had pressed rewind. After a few seconds, she realised that the unearthly screaming was coming from inside her head. Teeth clenched, still shaking slightly, she raised her head, thumping like an army had marched over it, and stared at the Dark Lord. How long had the pain lasted? It had seemed like years.

"Remarkable," he said, in a bored voice," she didn't even scream. Make sure she reports here tomorrow morning to start her training, Bellatrix." He strode out the room, not even glancing back at where Rowan lay, trembling on the floor.

Bellatrix looked steely at Rowan, "Get up. Now." Rowan groaned and let her head fall onto the floor again.

The background grew dark, and all Rowan could see was a shadowy figure standing in front of her. Bellatrix's annoyed face morphed slowly, gruesomely into a skeleton white figure that chilled her bones, fingers outstretched, grinning, before turning into the ghostly hooded figure of a Dementor, a single skinless hand protruding from its robes, drawing nearer and nearer...

Rowan lay, unable to move on the stone floor, bending under her weight, sinking like quicksand. And suddenly she was falling into cold, inky blackness, a high laugh reverberating all around her.

 **Sorry about this chapter, it didn't really turn out how I would have liked.**

 ** _Please_** **review – I'm quite new to writing fanfiction and any points for improvement would be useful.**


	3. Deja Vu

Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter.**

 **Sorry for the very long delay. Please review – it will remind me to write!**

 **Thanks to Fang, Wolfie and Needles for all the crazy ideas! Also thanks to Marauder0103.**

 **Please Read & Review!**

Cloak flapping behind him, Albus Dumbledore strode along a street lined with watery grey blocks of building in his sapphire cloak, blue robes and silvery beard, tucked neatly into his belt.

It had stopped raining, but a damp mist lingered in the air. The gloomy street was deserted, save for a few solemn figures trudging along the pavement in the distance.

Dumbledore stopped in front of a dark building, barred by a tall gate bearing the words 'Hann's Orphanage' in a fresh coat of paint. He looked up at the words and frowned, but pushed the gate open, flaky paint falling off its hinges. It groaned to a shut behind him as he walked quickly up to the main door. From behind murky windows, small, pale faces peered at him, but ducked away when he caught their eyes.

He reached the door, and looked up at the sorry, dilapidated building, tilting his head to one side, as though listening to it. After a few seconds, he lifted a grubby knocker and banged it against the door.

A shuffling sound came from behind the door, and it swung open. Rowan beamed up at him, and beckoned him inside.

The hallway was sparsely lit, and shadows seeped in from the walls. From deeper inside the building came a high-pitched crying of a baby, and the yells of young children. The children he had seen at the window poked their heads around the doorway of an adjoining room and gazed unabashedly at the unfamiliar splash of colour. One little boy, barely waist-height, glanced down at his uniform grey shirt and trousers, and crossed his arms over his chest, trying to hide them.

Skipping, a young girl in a black pinafore rounded the corner, singing at the top of her lungs;

"Fly away, fly away, Little baby,

Jump on my broom and fly away with me.

Fly away, fly away, And don't you worry,

I'll take you to a place where you'll never be lonely.

Fly away, fly away, And everybody,

In Hogwarts will be just like you and me."

Rowan glanced at Dumbledore out of the corner of her eye and knelt down next to the girl.

"Katie, you can't sing that, remember? I told you – you'll get into trouble."

"But I like singing it."

"I know Katie, but no-one else can know our little secret, remember?"

"But one day I'll go to Hogwarts with you?"

Rowan sighed, and lifted Katie into her arms, who buried her head in Rowan's hair.

"You will, you will, but not yet. You know that." Katie lifted her head and stared wide eyed at Dumbledore, who smiled kindly. Rowan gently placed her down, and turned to Dumbledore. "I'm sorry," she said hurriedly," it's just she made her plate levitate one breakfast, and was so lonely that I-"

A tall young maid with an outbreak of freckles had stomped around the corner, arms laden with sheets. At the sight of Dumbledore, standing out like a cartoon character against the gloomy hallway, her mouth flopped open. Slowly she took in his buckled boots, old-fashioned golden timepiece and blue shimmering robes and turned to Rowan.

"Who's this?"

"Good morning. I am Albus Dumbledore. I believe I have an appointment with Mrs Hann?" The maid dumped her sheets, and Dumbledore shook her hand.

"Right," she said warily, before shouting over her shoulder," MRS HANN, THERE'S SOMEONE 'ERE FOR YOU." She then picked up her washing and walked off, with a single questioning glance over her shoulder, scolding the peering children as she disappeared.

Half a minute later, a stout woman with her hand son her hips rounded the corner. Her mousy hair was stretched into a bun, and she glared at them. She wore a striped dress underneath a smart grey jacket, and high-heeled boots, which only made it obvious how short she was.

She eyed Dumbledore's eccentric appearance, and looked monetarily taken back, as though someone had slapped her. Then she scowled, sniffed at his handshake said "Finally 'ere, are you?"

Good morning. I assume you are Mrs Hann? My am Albus Dumbl-"

"Yes, yes," snapped Mrs Hann," I know who you are." She glowered at Rowan and added under her breath, on the pretence it was too quiet for anyone to make out;

"I don't see that many weirdoes."

Rowan flushed, and her gaze flickered towards Dumbledore, who had raised his eyebrows.

"You had better follow me then," and she strode off expectantly.

"Sorry about her," whispered Rowan as they followed Mrs Hann.

"Oh, don't worry," said Dumbledore, a hint of amusement in his voice.

They stopped outside a tall oak door, distinguishable as Mrs Hann's office because it was the only clean door they had passed. Mrs Hann grunted, and sung open the door with such force that it hit the wall. She marched in.

The office was almost bare, with a single window facing the brick wall of the adjoining house. A stern desk occupied the centre of the room, with a tall-backed chair on one side, and two simple wooden ones opposite. On the desk stood a single ink-pot and pen, a neat stack of paperwork and a cup of tea. Lurking in the corner of the room was a glass-panelled cabinet, empty except for a single dusty certificate and a few dusty glass goblets.

Mrs Hann drew the black curtains and turned up the overhead light, which buzzed in protest.

"Sit down," she gestured gruffly, and stopped when she saw Rowan still lingering at the door.

"Well? What are you doing here?" Rowan opened her mouth to reply, but Mrs Hann cut her off," Go do some chores, girl," and slammed the door roughly in her face, before turning back to Dumbledore. He had wandered over to the glass cabinet and was examining the contents.

"Forgive me for asking," he said," but has this orphanage always gone under the name of Hann?"

"No, some time back it was Wool's Orphanage. But they went broke, didn't they? And I brought this miserable place. Why'd you ask?"

"I once saw a student, some years ago now at Wool's Orphanage," said Dumbledore.

"Anyway, Mrs Hann, I am here to discuss Rowan's new school – Hogwarts-"

"Hogwash? Silly name for a school," interrupted Mrs Hann

Suddenly a shrill, terrified scream reverberated around the room, and they both started. Dumbledore stood up quickly and Mrs Hann stomped to the door and flung it open. She reeled back in shock.

Katie's feet had stuck to the ceiling; her hair streaming out below her gave her the appearance of a small doll someone had glued to the ceiling. Her mouth was open in an endless scream, staring petrified at several older boys standing rooted to the spot underneath her, their fingers grasping the empty air where Katie should have been.

Mrs Hann's eyes bulged. There was perfect silence.

"Katie dear," said Dumbledore softly," take my hand, good girl. Let's get you down now."

He drew out his wand and lowered Katie to the ground, still frozen stiff.

Swivelling her head from Katie to Dumbledore, Mrs Hann mouth fell open, but only a strangled croak came out.

Rowan came clattering around the corner, skidding to a stop at the sight of the petrified figures.

"What happened?" she gasped.

"Katie had a little accident," said Dumbledore gently, as Katie flung herself at Rowan, "if you could...?"

Rowan nodded, cast a meaningful glance at Mrs Hann and the orphanage boys, carried a shaking Katie along the hallway, and vanished from sight. Rowan's appearance seemed to have triggered something inside Mrs Hann, and, supporting herself on the doorway, she rounded on Dumbledore.

Dumbledore carefully drew out his wand and pointed it at the boys.

" _Obliverate_ ," he said softly, as Mrs Hann finally regained the use of her voice.

"What," she said, dangerously quietly," was tha-"

" _Obliverate_."

Mrs Hann's face fell slack, her eyes rolled backwards and she swayed slightly like she was onboard a ship. After a few seconds she took a clumsy step forwards and almost tripped. The boys in the hall blinked, dazed, and slowly realised they were grasping thin air.

"Wha-," said Mrs Hann groggily," What are we... where...?"

"I believe you were just about to invite me into your office to discuss Rowan."

"Oh... oh yeah. Yeah," she caught sight of the boys, and her dizzy expression swiftly morphed into an angry mask.

"What are you doing here then? Can't you hear me? GO!"

She strode, slightly haphazardly, into her study and slammed the door.

"I am here to discuss Rowan's new school," began Dumbledore as soon as Mrs Hann had navigated her way to her seat.

"Yes, yes..." said Mrs Hann, sitting up straighter," what was its name again?"

"Hogwarts."

"Bogwart?"

"Hogwarts. Rowan will need to be driven to the King's Cross Station on the 1st of September to catch a train leaving at 11 o'clock. She-"explained Dumbledore, but Mrs Hann suddenly cut across him.

"No – no, I don't think that will work. Rowan will not be attending Hogwash, or whatever your school is. You see, this orphanage gets paid, a considerable amount actually," she laughed mirthlessly," for each pupil that we teach in our school oursel-" she stopped, realising she had probably revealed too much.

"I see," said Dumbledore, his voice cold. He slowly reached into the folds of his cloak and drew his wand under the table.

"Well, as I said… I have only her best interests at heart-" blundered Mrs Hann. With a flick of Dumbledore's wand, Mrs Hann's eyes swam out of focus. She muttered to herself "But I suppose it would be one less mouth to feed…"

"Where do I drop her off?" she asked after a moment of silence.

"At King's Cross Station, on the 1st of September in time to catch a train at 11 o'clock."

"Yes, yes… of course," she said," Anything else I need to know?"

"Rowan will have to return here in the summer holidays, but may stay at Hogwarts over the Christmas and Easter holidays if she wishes," said Dumbledore.

"Keep her," said Mrs Hann," It'll be much less bother if she stays there over Easter and Christmas. Is that all?"

"Yes, although she will of course need uniform and books –"

"I'm not paying for a lot of useless junk she's never going to need-"said Mrs Hann indigently.

"But, as I was saying, the school have a trust fund for students."

"Oh."

"Well, that is that then. I believe I am taking Rowan into London to buy her books and uniform," said Dumbledore, rising. Mrs Hann nodded curtly.

Dumbledore opened the door and paused. He looked back at Mrs Hann.

"In a few years I think a young girl by the name of Katie may also be eligible for a place at Hogwarts," he remarked

"Oh?"

"I believe she has some of the qualities we look for in our students. Goodbye," said Dumbledore.

He shut the door and emerged in the gloomy corridor. Rowan sat on the dusty floor opposite the office, sketching an eye into the layer of grime on the floor, and her head snapped up when Dumbledore entered. She jumped up and rubbed out the drawing with her foot.

"Is everything alright?" she asked anxiously.

"Yes, she doesn't remember anything," replied Dumbledore, as Rowan held open the front door," How is little Katie?"

"A little shocked, but I explained everything to her. She's asleep on my bed."

"Good. How old is she?"

"About seven or eight – she was left on the doorstep of the Orphanage when she was about two." They walked in silence in the cold, bleak air to the end of the road. Rowan pulled out a small worn rucksack, and pulled out a thick black cloak. She glanced at Dumbledore.

"It's and Extension Charm, and not really allowed but..."

"I never saw anything," said Dumbledore simply.

They turned the corner, and the Orphanage slid out of sight. Rowan visibly brightened, she smiled nervously and walked more quickly along the never-ending maze pavement, as though the sky was suddenly empty of clouds.

"Where are we Apperating?"

"Just – here should be fine," replied Dumbledore, guiding Rowan into a dark brick alleyway, plastered with torn posters and littered with rubbish.

"Have you Apperated much before?" asked Dumbledore.

"Only a couple of times," said Rowan.

"Right, grab onto my arm," said Dumbledore, and Rowan grasped his offered arm.

"On the count of three... one, two... three," and they spun into blackness

Rowan it felt like they had just looped-the-loop on a rollercoaster while spinning horribly round and round. She forgot to breathe, and almost threw up. Leaning on Dumbledore, she opened her eyes, and the world materialised around her

They were standing outside a greasy pub, with gold lettering spelling out The Leaky Cauldron in a road full of bustling Muggles, who were walking past it like it wasn't there. It was dingy and grimy, and Rowan just hoped the inside was nicer than the uninviting exterior.

"In here," said Dumbledore, and they walked inside.

Inside the Leaky Cauldron wasn't much cleaner or brighter, but it made up for it with its bustling atmosphere. Groups of hearty wizards sat around tables, drinking an orange bubbly liquid, and Rowan heard a wizard order "Another Firewhisky Tom!"

From behind a dusty counter, a bald man stopped aimlessly wiping the grime of glass bottles with an even dirtier rag, reached behind him, and slid another bottle of Firewhisky over the counter.

The low murmur of chatter faltered when Dumbledore strode through the pub, gleaming against the shadows, and curious faces peered his way.

"Albus, Albus!" said Tom happily; smiling so wide the few teeth he had left gleamed from the oil lamps. All around the pub people were smiling and nodding at Dumbledore, and occasionally raising a glass to him. Slowly the conversations started back up again.

"Albus, you won't believe who came through here about an hour ago!" said Tom excitedly.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows politely.

"Harry Potter! In my pub!"

Heads snapped round at the name, and Rowan, hiding slightly behind Dumbledore, wondered who he was.

Harry Potter... the name didn't ring any bells. For the first time, she realised how much she had to catch up on in the wizarding world.

"Good," said Dumbledore," Hagrid's on time." But Tom was already recounting the whole story to the witches and wizards around the pub peppering him with questions.

"Out here, Rowan," said Dumbledore, pulling Rowan into a tiny littered courtyard behind the Leaky Cauldron.

He raised his wand, and tapped a brick on the wall, muttering "three up and... two across".

The brick quivered and slid out of sight, as the hole grew bigger and bigger until it resembled an archway leading too... Diagon Alley.

Before them a narrow alleyway wriggled into the distance, crooked buildings piled haphazardly onto of each other, jutting over the cobbled street. Cluttered shop windows screamed for attention, signs reading The Magical Menagerie, Flourish and Blotts, Cauldrons of all Shapes and Sizes and Quality Quidditch Supplies swung above their shops. Cages, cauldrons and crates spilled out onto the street, owls hooted from within the Menagerie and purple puffs of glittering smoke fogged up the window of Mr Mulpepper's Apothecary.

Aside from the shops, the people going in and out of them were strange enough. Many witches and wizards were wearing multicoloured cloaks and robes, and several sported tall, triangular hats. Rowan spotted a couple of wizards having a brawl halfway down the street, wands out. Families swept by carrying owls, books and new wands. Buzzing chatter filled the air, friendly calls and aimless conversations.

Swivelling her head left and right, trying desperately to take in everything at once, Rowan followed Dumbledore up Diagon Alley, through the bustling crowd.

"Professor Dumbledore," said Rowan, having to shout to be heard over the multitudes of people, "where are we going first?"

Dumbledore smiled and beckoned Rowan into the shadow of the Apothecary, the smoke now vanished, leaving only a purple hue inside the shop.

"I think we will need to buy your school robes and equipment second hand... there's a second hand shop just along here... and let me see... Flourish and Blotts for your books of course... and your wand, of course," he said.

"Right, this way," he said briskly, and they set off.

An hour later, Rowan exited Flourish and Blotts, stuffing her school books into the scratched cauldron she was carrying, the waving face of Miranda Goshawk peering out from The Standard Book of Spells – Grade 1.

Dumbledore consulted the list of school supplies in his hand.

"Only a wand left," he said, and Rowan's heart jumped. She took out a curved wand out of her pocket, resembling a talon of a bird of prey. Dumbledore watched it curiously.

"Whose was that?" he asked.

"Bellatrix's," replied Rowan with a grimace, stuffing it back in her pocket," but it doesn't work very well for me." Dumbledore nodded grimly.

Standing outside a dark, shabby shop, Rowan read a golden sign – Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC. She pushed open the door, paint peeling, and walked inside. Dumbledore shut the door, and through the gloom, Rowan could make out narrow shelves piled with narrow rectangular boxes. The place seemed deserted. The air was thick with magic. Inching forwards, Rowan felt drawn towards the second shelf along, and reached out her hand towards a single box, the dusty label reading Ebony, Phoenix core, 13 ¾ inches, Swishy.

A soft cough from behind startled her, and she almost dropped the box. A wizened man with shoulder-length white hair, silvery eyes and a creased brow stepped out of the shadows.

"Ah, Mr Ollivander," said Dumbledore, shaking hands with the wizard," my friend Rowan here, is in search of a new wand."

"Indeed," he wheezed," and started scouring the shelves," what did you say your surname was?"

"I-I didn't," said Rowan," but it's Riddle."

Ollivander's head snapped up, and he eyed Rowan curiously, stunned. Rowan tried to look anywhere but those creepy, silver eyes.

"And your middle name?" he practically whispered.

"Bellatrix."

There was a sudden silence. Then Mr Ollivander spotted the wand poking from Rowan's pocket and plucked it out. Rolling it between his fingers, he murmured "yes... walnut, dragon-heartstring, 12 ¾ inches, unyielding," more to himself than anybody else," this was _her_ wand."

Rowan shivered.

Mr Ollivander looked up at Rowan, opened his mouth to say something, and caught sight of the wand-box she was holding.

"Ah, yes," he said softly," Try it."

He slid off the top of the box, reached gently inside and handed Rowan a jet black wand. It was smooth and gleamed in the lamp-light. Halfway down, it curved like a braid.

Rowan fingered it. It felt cool and refreshing. She looked up at the peering face of Mr Olliander.

"Give it a wave," he said.

" _Lumos_ ," Rowan whispered. Instantly, a ball of pulsing silver light appeared at the end of the wand.

Mr Ollivander raised his eyebrows, and looked questioningly at Dumbledore, who was smiling.

"Very well," he said slowly.

"W-what's wrong?" said Rowan.

"It is... unusual... to find your wand first time. In fact... it has only happened to me twice before. Was this wand just... lying about?" he said, and Rowan bristled at his slightly accusative tone.

"No," she said quickly," it was on a shelf. I... I picked it up."

"As I said, unusual. Very."

Rowan wished Ollivander would stop staring at her with his wide, unblinking silver eyes.

"Good. Are we done then?" said Dumbledore, breaking the silence. He handed over some golden coins, and they stepped gladly into the dazzling sunlight, Mr Ollivander peering through the dusty windows as they walked away.

Far sooner than she would have liked, Rowan found herself outside Hann's Orphanage. Still reeling after her Apperation, she turned to Dumbledore.

"I prefer travelling by broom or Thestral."

Dumbledore chuckled.

"I'll admit it takes a bit of getting used to."

One hand on the gate, Rowan paused.

"Sir? Err... permission to use the Obliviate charm on Muggles if Katie... acts up again?"

"Of course," Dumbledore nodded.

"I'll inform the Ministry," he added.

Rowan nodded glumly, and they walked up the gravel path together, the gate swinging shut behind them.

"I would like you to come to Hogwarts next Saturday," said Dumbledore into the silence.

"But the school term doesn't start for ages."

"I believe it would be wise to discuss your present circumstances before term starts."

Rowan tried furiously not to grin, but didn't succeed.

She glanced up at Dumbledore, whose eyes were twinkling again.

"I would be very interested to find out more about your past," he said softly.

She nodded, eyes on the doormat, and rang the bell.

"Well... see you next Friday," she said, slightly awkwardly. She looked up at the sky. It was about to rain.

CRACK.

And when she looked down, Dumbledore was gone.

 **Thanks so much if you've reviewed this, I'm always happy to take improvements and ideas.**

 **Next chapter will be through the Pensive into Rowan's past...**

 **This chapter didn't really turn out how I would have liked but oh well.**

 **Please review – and it'll help me remember to write!**


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